Saturday, August 8, 2015

Her Sinful Angel, book eight in New York Times best-seller Felicity Heaton’s hot paranormal romance series, Her Angel, is now available in ebook and paperback. To celebrate the release, she’s holding a FANTASTIC GIVEAWAY at her website.Find out how to enter the Her Sinful Angel international giveaway (ends August 9th) and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate at her website, where you can also download a 5 chapter sample of the novel: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/her-sinful-angel-romance-book.php
Here’s more about Her Sinful Angel, including an excerpt from this paranormal romance novel.

Cast out of Heaven and now the king of Hell, Lucifer is a powerful fallen angel warrior with a heart as cold as ice and soul as black as the bottomless pit. For millennia, he has ruled his realm with an iron fist as he plots the demise of his ancient enemies. When one of those enemies dumps an unconscious mortal female in the courtyard of his fortress and leaves her there, Lucifer finds himself entranced by the beguiling beauty and tempted beyond all reason. But is the enchanting Nina an innocent pawn in the eternal game or part of a plot against him?

Nina paced the small apartment she had been moved to, wearing a groove in the polished stone floor. It was cold beneath her bare feet. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her shoes, but thinking about where they might be was a distraction she didn’t need, not when she was beginning to panic again.
She had tried to sleep, but had woken sharply, roused from her slumber by something she couldn’t remember now. It had been important, she felt sure of that. A memory? She frowned at the floor, turned on her heel and paced back towards the large tapestry hanging on the black wall, ignoring the niggling voice that mentioned for the thousandth time that there were no windows in her room.
It felt like a cell.
The walls closed in on her and she screwed her eyes shut, breathed out slowly, and drew down a deep breath to calm herself. She had to maintain her focus. Whenever she managed to get her mind off her current situation and unimportant details like her missing shoes, she could catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure that lurked in her fragmented memories.
Her head ached and she paused mid-stride, pressing her hand against her forehead. Sweat dampened it. She was pushing herself too hard again, but she felt that if she just kept her focus for long enough, kept driving forwards and not relenting, that she might remember what had awoken her.
It felt important.
She wanted to have something she could tell the man when he returned.
She hadn’t seen him since he had brought her to the room, given her a set of clothes that were still laid out over the back of the red velvet couch in front of the unlit fireplace to her right, and had left her alone with instructions to remain in the room.
She hadn’t seen anyone.
Not in all the time she had been here.
The grim corridors of the insanely huge house had been empty as the man had led her through them. Every single one of them. She hadn’t even heard a trace of life in the building, other than her escort, and he had been silent the entire walk between the room where she had come around to find him watching her and her new one.
Nina flopped onto the four-poster bed to her left, the dark red silk covers cushioning her fall, cool against her back and her arms as she stretched them out at her sides. She stared at the black ceiling and the crystal chandelier that hung in the centre of it, her mind wandering as her focus slipped.
To the man.
He hadn’t mentioned his name.
Because he was a servant?
She had never met a servant before, so she wasn’t sure what the protocol was for them, or whether she should have given him her name.
It wasn’t as if he had asked, and she felt sure that if it had been important or he had wanted to know it, he would have asked her.
Nina sighed out her breath and sank deeper into the soft mattress, her head filling with a replay of the hours she had spent with him and in this building. Questions began to replace the images, her curiosity getting the better of her now that she was beginning to feel bolder.
She was going to ask him his name when he returned.
She was going to ask him where they were, because this house didn’t look like the sort she would find in London. The ceiling slipped out of focus and she struggled to bring it back to sharpness again. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it was happening less often as the ache behind her eyes gradually dulled and the fog in her mind lifted.
The shadowy figure had drugged her.
It was wearing off, but he had definitely drugged her.
That meant she could be anywhere. She might have been out for hours. Days.
Her throat closed, her heart beating harder against her ribs, and she tugged the soft blanket beneath her into her fists, clinging to it as she fought the wave of panic.
She breathed through it, slowly and steadily, methodically pushing all of the frightening thoughts out of her mind so she could find calm again. With calm came clarity, and she needed that right now. She needed a clear head so she could think.
She needed to figure out what had happened and whether she was safer out there, or in this building.
The handsome man flashed across her eyes, his half-smile making her belly flutter and knees weaken even when she was lying down.
Part of her didn’t feel safe around him.
Not because he was a danger to her, like the other man and her ex-husband.
But because he was too alluring, and the pull she felt towards him was too strong. She couldn’t fight it, even when she knew that she had to in order to protect herself. She had learned long ago not to trust men.
Especially the handsome and charismatic ones.
And her host was as charming as they got.
Nina pressed her right hand to her chest, feeling her heart beating rapidly against her palm. She needed to get control of herself and shove aside the attraction she felt towards the man, because giving in to it wasn’t an option.
She wouldn’t put herself through that hell again.
The door in the right corner of the far end of the room opened and she shot into a sitting position, her heart leaping into her throat as her gaze darted towards it.
The man stood there, dressed as impeccably as before in a fine black suit and polished leather shoes, with his dark hair swept back from his face. All that black made him look as pale as a ghost, his skin white and flawless. Only his amber eyes added a touch of colour that added life to him.
Fire.
That fiery gaze burned into her as his eyes came to settle on her, narrowing slightly so his long black lashes darkened his irises to burnished gold.
“You are awake,” he said, his voice as smooth and deep as an ocean, lulling her as gently as waves.
With practiced precision, he carried a silver tray into the room and set it down on the black coffee table near the red couch.
Food.
Her stomach grumbled at the sight of it. Fruits, something that looked like a sponge cake, and chocolate. Her belly growled louder, her mouth watering as she thought about breaking off a piece of chocolate and popping it into her mouth. Beside the food on the tray stood an elegant silver teapot and a single fine china cup on a saucer, with a tiny pot of milk and a sugar bowl.
Nina stared at the offering, wondering if she would look rude if she ran across the room to stuff her face with the food.
The man arched an eyebrow at her and then at the tray. “I can ask for coffee if you prefer it.”
She quickly shook her head. “Tea is fine. Perfect. I love tea.”
And she was rambling. She didn’t need to catch the amused look on his handsome face to know that.
She edged off the bed and walked as casually as she could towards the couch. He shifted aside when she neared him and she almost paused to look at him, part of her curious about why he always moved away from her whenever she approached him. Was he merely trying to make her feel more comfortable?
Or was there another reason he wanted to keep his distance from her?

Her Sinful Angel is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback. Find all the links, a fantastic 5 chapter downloadable sample of the book, and also how to enter the giveaway and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate at her website: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/her-sinful-angel-romance-book.php

Felicity Heaton is a New York Times and USA Today international best-selling author writing passionate paranormal romance books. In her books, she creates detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action, intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful angels and hot demons! If you're a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then you will enjoy her books too.
If you love your angels a little dark and wicked, the best-selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong, powerful, and dark vampires then try the Vampires Realm series or any of her stand-alone vampire romance books. If you’re looking for vampire romances that are sinful, passionate and erotic then try the best-selling Vampire Erotic Theatre series. Or if you prefer huge detailed worlds filled with hot-blooded alpha males in every species, from elves to demons to dragons to shifters and angels, then take a look at the new Her Angel series.
If you want to know more about Felicity, or want to get in touch, you can find her at the following places:

Cecelia Marks is a whistle-blower
and her life is no longer her own. Witness Protection offers little safety when
the man who hunts her is a wealthy oil tycoon hell bent on taking her down and
making her pay.

He's haunted by demons

Sigma werewolf Lucky Miller
failed to protect an innocent and the grief still haunts him. When a new woman
stumbles into his life smelling too much like his fated mate, his wolf won't
let him walk away. Things become even more dangerous once she becomes the
center of a motorcycle club war.

Ryanne Hawk writes Urban Fantasy
and Paranormal stories. She blends humor, horror, and interesting worlds, in
order to bring you entertaining reads sure to make you think, squirm in your
seat, and laugh out loud. Ryanne Hawk is the alter ego of author ER Pierce.

Seventeen-year-old Mae is convinced that the consequences of her poor decisions have caused the untimely deaths of three close family members within a year, no matter how ludicrous her thoughts seem to those she loves. The solution? Run away so no one else she cares for gets hurt.

Despite Mae’s efforts to blend in at a new high school just long enough to graduate, she meets Ty, the “perfect guy” with his own secrets and a relentless interest in her. She must decide if she can stop running from the past and still protect those she loves; and if she does return home, whether Ty is really the right person to protect her fragile heart.

“Is this for me?” I ask as Ty stands in the center of the clearing
with a yellow rose in one hand.

“No. It’s for that grandma who’ll be passing this area in about
ten minutes. I’m just practicing my delivery.” He’s so cute when he’s being
sarcastic. I take the rose. In an instant I am shocked back to the day of
Laura’s funeral. Everyone in her sixth grade glass brought roses to the
cemetery to lay upon her grave, yellow ones, her favorite color. “Why aren’t
you smiling?” Ty asks. “Did I do something wrong?”

“N…no.”

“Your hand is shaking,” he says coming over to my side. “Sit
down.” He points to the picnic table. “Mae, if you don’t tell me anything I
won’t ever be able to help you. I want to help you. I know what it’s like to
need help. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too. And I’m willing to tell
you. It’s weird because I hardly know anything about you, but I feel like we’re
a lot alike.”

“We’re nothing alike,” I say. I want to tell him. But if I do?
Then what? He won’t understand. No one does.

“Is yellow not a good color for brunettes?” he jokes. I can’t help
but smile. He takes the rose, breaks off the stem, and tucks it behind my ear.
He leans in to smell the rose and kisses my cheek. Only the crunching of sticks
from the older couple on the path stops him from reaching my lips.

Marcy Blesy is the author of several middle grade and young adult novels and short stories. Her picture book, Am I Like My Daddy?, helps children who experienced the loss of a parent when they were much younger. She has also been published in two Chicken Soup for the Soul books as well as various newspapers and magazines. By day she runs an elementary school library and enjoys spending time with her husband and two boys.

Marcy is a believer in love and enjoys nothing more than making her readers feel a book more than simply reading it. She likes to connect with her readers via email (mablesy(at)yahoo.com).

I've always felt like an average
girl ... except for my strange relationship with death. You could say I like to
court it. Whether I'm soaring through the air as a flyer for Specter
University's cheer squad, or speeding down the steepest mountain with only
grace and balance keeping me from an icy end, I've always needed to feel a
rush. But now Death is courting me―in more ways than one. First, there's Rishi,
a rogue death deity who has a penchant for annoying me nearly to my grave and
whose intense gaze has the power to see right through me. Then there's Hades,
who I'd rather had stayed just a myth. Now that he knows I exist, he's not
going to leave me alone until I meet the same end as my mother.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention
her? I spent my whole life thinking she had died when I was a baby, but now
I've found out she's much more than dead. Fifty years ago, Hades banished my
mother from the underworld and took away her ability to cross over souls―souls
that have wandered lost through the world ever since. Now she wants me to clean
up the mess.

THE ROLLING
GREEN of her eyes was dimming fast, losing color and life to the quick click of
time that beat out her days and nights, a perpetual circle that was now fading
to a close. Light brown hair that had been recently styled into looping curls
was limp against the black pillowcase―a metaphor for her wilted spirit, I
mused, thinking offhandedly how proud my English professor would be at my
thoughtful use of language.

I sighed. I didn’t want to be here.

When her eyes met mine, I knew she saw me for
who I really was—what I really was. She reached out an eager hand to take mine.
I didn’t want anything to do with it. But it wasn’t because her fingers were
slick with blood, deep crimson dripping down her arm and fingernails from where
she’d so precisely placed a razor blade to her vein and dug deep, thinking
she’d be free of her pain. It was because her face reflected back to me all the
times I’d felt I’d been given a shitty deal. Current situation: case in point.

“Hi,” she whispered, her once pink lips fading
with every pump of her life, which was idly dripping away from her to the plush
white carpet below. I could smell the newness of it, the fresh aroma of a
recently laid floor. That’s going to be a bitch to get clean.

I looked around
her bedroom, at the dance trophies and pictures of smiling friends, and
wondered why. Why me? “Blake …” Hearing
my mother's warning tone, I looked over at her where she stood in the shadows,
overseeing my tutelage.

“Why can’t we just call an ambulance? It’s not
too late. They could save her,” I whispered fiercely, staring at the girl’s
hand stretched out to me as if I were her savior and not her end. “We should
save—”

“It’s not for us
to decide, you know that. We are only here to bring souls over, not save their
mortal lives. Take her, she wants to go.”

“And will she still feel the same when she’s
looking down at her body?” I asked, not even bothering to check my mother’s
expression when she didn’t answer. Suicide wasn’t a peaceful death. It was
pain―that much I knew.

I choked back the tears that wanted to rise in
my eyes for this girl, for me … I turned to her once more and leaned down,
brushing a strand of her hair from her graying face. “What’s your name?”

Barely blinking, her pale eyes darted to me.
“Carly,” she said, choking around her words.

“Just hold my
hand and I’ll help you cross,” I said softly, forcing myself to meet her gaze
so that someone would witness her ending as they had her beginning.

She smiled slowly, and I saw that in life she
had been pretty. When she’d believed. When she’d had hope.

“The light?” Her
eyes widened, glittering green for a brief moment in their otherwise colorless
depths at the prospect of going somewhere beautiful after this life had been so
cold.

I nodded,
although I didn’t really know where she would go. I was only in training, but I
hoped it was someplace good, where her tormented soul could rest.

She had small,
feminine hands, I thought, as she laced her slippery fingers around my longer
warm ones. She didn’t last long, her pulse giving one last flutter before
sputtering out.

The room was
suffused with the silence left behind in the absence of such a simple thing.
The thundering lack of a person’s heartbeat had never seemed quite so loud. As
life departed Carly’s mortal coil, her soul lifted from the body, but unlike
some souls I’d seen that were light and buoyant, at peace with the next step in
their existence, hers was outlined in darkness, and it rippled, suspended in
space like a special effect in a bad horror film. Her gaze turned from her body
to me, sorrow coming to settle on the slope of her bowed shoulders and in the
recesses of her eyes. Regret was a fickle creature. It always came too late.

As a girl, K.M. always wished
she’d suddenly come into magical powers or cross over into a Faerie circle.
Although that has yet to happen, she instead lives vicariously through the
characters she creates writing fantasy and paranormal.

When K.M. is not busy writing her
next novel, she serves as a freelance editor and writer. She has a master’s
degree in journalism from Syracuse University and a bachelor’s degree in
English-Lit from Nazareth College of Rochester. K.M. lives in Upstate New
York’s Finger Lakes region with her husband, her extremely energetic little
boy, and their crazy goldendoodle Luna (short for Lunatic)

Ten days ago, someone threw a brick through my front window. Nine days ago, someone keyed my truck right in my driveway. Eight days ago, someone spray painted the words ‘stay away’ across my garage door. That one really pissed me off. The jerk didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me what the hell I need to stay away from.

Each day it’s something new, a new piece of my property vandalized, and I’ve had enough.

Wanting a security system, something with cameras so I can catch the vandal, I let my best friend hook me up with her cousin, a private investigator with the PRG Investigations team.

His name is Vance and I’ve secretly been in love with him for three years. He’s a badass, a little scary, incredibly hot, and he’s never showed an interest in me … until now.

“You know,” Piper says, settling in, pulling her legs up
under her. “I think this is exactly what I needed. I don’t remember ever
feeling this relaxed. Not even in Mexico.”

I laugh. “We’ll have to make this a regular thing then.”

She looks at me, a tiny frown tugging her lips. “Do you do
this a lot?”

“Do what?” I ask curiously.

“Make picnics and bring girls out here,” she asks, her voice
hesitant, as though maybe she doesn’t actually want to hear the answer.

I stare at Piper.

She stares right back at me.

Jesus, she sounds … jealous. She looks it, too.

It’s a pretty look on her.

Always so damn pretty.

I grin at her, and then pull the lid off the
cooler, reaching in and retrieving a beer.

“You’re the first,” I say, twisting off the cap and handing
it to her. “Don’t bring too many people out here, actually.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“You’re the first,” I say again, reaching over to her,
lightly trailing the back of my knuckles along the curve where her neck and
shoulder meets. It’s a barely there touch, but the contact makes her shiver and
blush. “And I’ve never made a picnic for anyone before you either.”

“I, uh, I …” her blush deepens and her voice wobbles.
“Really?”

She’s nervous and she takes a long pull from her beer.

“Really,” I say, letting my hand fall away, wanting to put
her at ease. I reach into the cooler, grabbing a beer for myself, twisting it
open.

When I glance back at her, she’s staring at me, confused, as
though I haven’t answered her question at all, so I decide to elaborate.

“This is my getaway, the place I come to clear my head. The
guys come out with me every once in a while, but for the most part I keep the
boat to myself. It’s … special to me, sacred even. I don’t bring just anyone
out here.”

“So it’s a special place,” she reiterates, surprised. “Your special place.”

I take a pull from my beer. “Essentially, yeah.”

My response relaxes her, and she beams at me as though being
here makes her special, too.

It does.

She is special to me.

AUTHOR BIO:

Ashley Stoyanoff is an author of paranormal romance books for young adults, including The Soul's Mark series and the Deadly Trilogy. She lives in Southern Ontario with her husband, Jordan, and two cats: Tanzy and Trinity.

In July 2012, Ashley published her first novel, The Soul's Mark: FOUND, and shortly thereafter, she was honored with The Royal Dragonfly Book Award for both young adult and newbie fiction categories.

An avid reader, Ashley enjoys anything with a bit of romance and a paranormal twist. When she's not writing or devouring her latest read, she can be found spending time with her family, watching cheesy chick flicks or buying far too many clothes.

Ashley loves hearing from her readers, so feel free to connect with her online.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Petyr has never found it necessary
to consider the humans as anything more than distant, inferior beings–until
now. They are the cause of the fatal disease that has plagued his realm, taking
the lives of too many of his kind.

As a future leader of a realm in
peril, Petyr must find a way to resist and cure the affliction. He must enter
the unfamiliar realm, appear to be an ordinary eighteen-year-old human, observe
and learn.

However, things don't exactly go
according to plan. Instead of embarking single-mindedly on his sober mission,
Petyr meets an 18-year-old girl who does things to his emotions that he can't
quite fathom or control. Petyr is falling in love, and he almost forgets the
gravity his choices have on his entire world. Despite the risk it poses to his
life and hers, he wants to know her, and he wants her to know him–and his
world.

P.I. Alltraine is an award
winning poet and author. She has won several international poetry competitions,
and her poems have been published in separate anthologies.

She teaches English Language and
Literature in London. She earned her degree in BA English from Queen Mary
University of London, a Post Graduate Certificate in Education and Master’s in
Teaching at the UCL Institute of Education, University of London.

Before moving to London, she
lived in the Philippines where she was ensconced in the rich culture encrusted
with dark myths and enchanted tales. She draws inspiration from these in her
writing. Although she has lived indifferent places and experienced different
cultures, she always enjoyed the constancy of writing in her life. Her
favourite authors include John Milton, Virginia Woolf and James Joyce.

Jake and Andrea met once. When Andrea was in college, Jake came with her brother Ben who was visiting on leave from a deployment in Afghanistan. Now, years later, Jake gets a job in Ben’s home town to be close to his best friend. He hadn’t counted on Andrea. The attraction he’d felt then was still there. And this time he wasn’t headed back to a war zone where he could very well be killed.

Andrea is drawn to the man who calls Ben brother. Something about him speaks to her, but she’s not sure what. She falls into things head first, but when something makes her question how fast things are going she slams on the breaks. Can the two of them figure out what’s going on with them before it’s too late?

"Shit!" Andrea grabbed
the steering wheel with both hands and carefully eased the vehicle onto the
shoulder. "Damn, damn, damn!" She punctuated each word with a one
fisted blow to the wheel.

Opening the door, she carefully
stepped out of the car. The thin heels of her shoes sank into the gravel as she
gingerly walked around the car to inspect the damage. Sure enough, she'd blown
a tire.

She bent, balancing carefully on
the balls of her feet and looked into the wheel well around the damaged tire. There
didn’t appear to be any body damage, but she’d have to get the tire off to be
sure. She stood and cautiously stepped back to the open driver’s door, she’d
pulled far enough off the road that passing traffic wouldn’t hit her door, but
that meant the blown tire was on the soft shoulder.

"Why now?" she asked
the wind. "Why not when I'm wearing jeans and tennies? Or when I don't
have somewhere I need to be?" She set the emergency break and had to turn
back to flip the switch for the flashers before going to the back. Opening the
back gate, she rolled up the carpet to get to where the jack was stored. After
pulling it out she used the lug wrench to lower the spare from beneath the
small SUV.

"Damn it all," she
muttered, wishing she hadn't taken her gym bag into the house that morning. At
least she would have had some way to protect her dress, not to mention shoes
that would be easier to work in.

Freeing the spare, she grabbed the
old blanket she kept in the back for emergencies and partially unfolded it before
spreading it out next to the shredded tire. After retrieving the good tire and
the jack, she kicked her heels off, preferring to work barefooted over trying
to balance on the spikes.

She struggled for several
minutes but managed to loosen the lug nuts so the tire wouldn't spin in the air
if she tried to do it later. Once she had all the nuts loose, she bent low so
she could see under the tilted frame, and placed the jack in the right spot.

Her head was still under the car
when the pop of tires on gravel told her someone had pulled off the road behind
her.

"Need some help?" A
deep masculine voice asked as she pushed herself to her feet. When she saw him
she stopped short for just a moment. Something about this man niggled the back
of her mind, told her she'd seen him before. He was tall but not bulky and the
snug fit of his t-shirt and jeans told her he was all muscle. Something about
him called to her and made her stomach flip-flop. She couldn't help but smile
as he approached wearing a friendly smile under his baseball cap as he offered
his assistance.

"I'd appreciate it," she
admitted. "Normally I'd have no trouble doing it myself but I'm not
exactly dressed for the job." She spread her arms wide, showing off her
turquoise dress. It was cut to flatter her thick frame, showing off all her
curves well and stopping just above her knees.

"At least you had the sense
to lose the heels." He took her place beside the car and bent to check the
placement of the jack before he started lifting the car. "You already
break the nuts?" He stopped and looked at her for a moment before the tire
cleared the ground.

"Yes." She stepped
back into her shoes and tried to stay out of the way as he finished changing
her tire and put the blanket and damaged tire into the back of the vehicle.
"Thanks so much." She extended one hand. "Can I get your name?
I'd like to do something to thank you. This has been a huge help."

~~~

"It's really no problem. My
name's Jake, Jake Walters." He took her offered hand and shook it.
"But you don't have to do anything, it's always a pleasure to help a
pretty lady, especially one dressed so nicely." He looked her up and down
again, from the top of her head where her hair was pulled back in some
elaborate style, down her curvy body, and well-shaped legs. He liked what he
saw. She hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d first met her.

"Now I remember.” Her eyes
widened and a smile bloomed across her face. "You're Ben’s friend. He
brought you home with him on leave a few years ago."

"I am."

"You here for the
wedding?"

"Yes and no. I’ll be there,
but I've recently moved to the area."

"That's great.” A car blew
past them on the road, barely slowing as it went by. “Look, I'm sorry to do
this but I've got to go. I'm late already."

Melissa was born and raised in Arizona, she's spent her entire life living across the southern half of the state. She's found that, along with her husband and three children, she prefers the small towns and rural life to feeling packed into a city.

She started reading at a very young age, and her love for series started early, as the first real books she remembers reading is the Boxcar Children series by Gertrude Chandler Warner. Through the years she's found that there's little she won't read, and her tastes vary from westerns, to romance, to sci-fi / fantasy and Horror.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Bennett Langdon has a firm
no-relationships policy. Still, it doesn't stop her from hooking up with a
super-sexy bad boy at her best friend's wedding. After all, it's only one
night—what harm could it do? Ten weeks later, a pregnant Bennett has her
answer...

Linc Monahan can't believe it.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He's a werewolf, and shouldn't be able to
father a child with a human. Now Linc has to find some way to tell Bennett that
not only do werewolves exist, but she's about to have a baby with one.

But when word of their surprise
conception gets out, the fur hits the fan. There are people who don't want this
baby to be born—even if it means killing. Now Bennett and Linc aren't just
fighting each other...they're fighting for their lives.

Bestselling author Candace Havens
has written multiple novels for Berkley, Entangled and Harlequin. Her books
have received nominations for the RITA's, Holt Medallion and Write Touch Reader
Awards. She is the author of the biography Joss Whedon: The Genius Behind Buffy
and a contributor to several anthologies.

She is also one of the nation's
leading entertainment journalists and has interviewed countless celebrities
including Tom Hanks, Nicolas Cage, Tom Cruise, George Clooney and many more.
Her entertainment columns can be read in more than 600 newspapers across the
country. Candace also runs a free online writing workshop for more than 2200
writers, and teaches comprehensive writing class. She does film reviews with
the Hawkeye & Dorsey on 96.3, and is a former President of the Television
Critics Association.